


O. C. Crime

by 6YearsABrave



Series: O. C. [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:03:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6YearsABrave/pseuds/6YearsABrave
Summary: A tale of the Wild West.Now that Slim and Peppers own San Diego, how long will it last?





	O. C. Crime

The day was one in the middle of August, the hottest month of the year, which was 1891. The place was seemingly the hottest in North America – just north of the border of Mexico and California in a budding town called San Diego, where it hadn’t rained in anyone’s recent memory. The dry, brown ground choked with dead tumbleweeds and crawled with armadillos and scorpions. It would have seemed to anyone (and it did, to most of the residents) like a wasteland – except for three young outlaws who would rather be there than any place on earth.

Since the townspeople now came to them for their water supply, it was almost like owning a bunch of slaves from the war – only these slaves had a bunch of possessions for the free seizing. The three outlaws had greatly expanded their farm-empire down in Mexico, all the while taking advantage of everything San Diego had to offer, now that they controlled it – including its saloon, bank, and general store. 

A few young men in the town had attempted to take matters into their own hands – in vain. As soon as guns were pulled, guns were pulled in return, and usually, more than one. The two small prison cells in what was the sheriff’s office downtown had turned crowded rather quickly, but Slim Pickens, Peppers, and Cherry Jack didn’t care. 

 

“Does anyone have anything remotely resembling a key? Needle? Wire?”

The seven people in the two jail cells in Sheriff Martin Black’s office rummaged through their pockets and purses. The outlaws had been ignoring them all day and barely fed them enough. Their restlessness had reached an all-time high.

“No!” Came the resounding chorus. 

“Now, listen here,” Sheriff Black said to his fellow prisoners, angry conviction in his voice. “If we don’t get outta here, this town is gonna fall apart at the seams. God knows how much it already has. I will have failed my job and all of you if I don’t put these crooks away and soon!” He gestured with a finger. “Now somebody, come up with a way we can unlock these cells!” 

The door of the office burst open. “Well, hello there, _friends!_ ” Cherry Jack sneered as she came in carrying a bucket. “How are we?”

“Hungry,” One of the young men said.

“I figured as much,” she replied. She tossed the contents of the bucket through the bars so some landed in each cell. It was one step above hog slop – a chop suey of leftovers nobody wanted. But the prisoners scooped it off the floor with their hands and ate greedily. 

All except the sheriff, who evilly eyed Cherry down with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“No munchies today, huh, sheriff?” She jeered. 

“Get out,” he growled.

“Suit yourself,” she said with a smile. “I’ve got a whorehouse to check in on anyway.” The other prisoners all turned to look at her quizzically as she sauntered out the door with the bucket swinging from one arm.

She made her way to Vivador’s Saloon where she took her place behind the bar, satisfactorily wiping her hands. A moment later a young woman came crashing down the stairs with a bumbling older man in tow. “Hey,” Cherry shouted. “Everything okay up there?”

“Oh, y-” The man started to answer, but Cherry pulled her gun on him.

She turned her head. “I was talkin’ to you,” she gestured to the woman. 

She went wide-eyed and stopped in her tracks. When she didn’t say anything, Cherry went on, “This place is under…new management.” She gave her a knowing grin. “Any complaints?”

“I, uh…” The young woman caught on and smiled. “S’pose he wasn’t the greatest.” She motioned to the man behind her, who had his hands up.

Cherry eyed him down for a second, making him tremble visibly, and finally squeezed off a shot that whizzed less than an inch over the top of his head. “Next time, I won’t miss,” she said flatly. She gestured with the gun for him to leave the saloon, and he scurried out the door. 

“Wow,” the young woman said as Cherry returned her gun to her belt. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she replied coolly. “I know how nice it can be to flip the script.”

“You sure do, ma’am,” the young woman said in admiration as Cherry herself headed for the stairs. 

“Stay outta trouble,” Cherry said over her shoulder. 

When she got upstairs she saw there was no one else there. It was still pretty early in the day, after all. She tidied up a few things that people had left lying around and went out to the balcony, looking out over the town square. It was peaceful – almost too peaceful – as she watched the woman leave the saloon below. In the beautiful quiet of the morning, she laughed as she took it all in. She really was in charge. It was the most beautiful, hundred-degree, bone-dry desert morning she had ever seen. 

 

It was quite liberating, in fact, to be able to walk around openly in town without fear of being shot or taken captive, so thought Slim Pickens to himself. He worked the water pump, humming to himself contentedly, as his bucket filled slowly. 

He went to the sheriff’s office. All the prisoners recoiled, except the sheriff and Mr. and Mrs. Pickens, who stared Slim down, following their son’s every move. “Morning, _folks_ ,” Slim started, setting the bucket of water on the floor. 

“I thought the girl was bringing our water,” Mrs. Pickens said flatly.

Slim cocked his head toward them. “Nope,” he said simply. “Although, I can see how you’d have been happier with a girl.”

“What?” Mr. Pickens asked.

“Spare me,” Slim replied, venom creeping into his voice. “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t make a scene.” He gestured at the other prisoners.

“A scene?” Mr. Pickens repeated, his voice also getting quietly angrier. “You’re the one arresting people for nothing.”

Slim crossed his arms. The water bucket still sat on the floor. “At least I’m not _disowning_ them.” 

“How the hell did you survive on the streets for ten years anyway?” His mother asked with disgust.

Slim slowly took a few steps closer to the bars of the cell. “I am affronted that you’d even wonder that,” he said quietly. “Although – can’t say I’m surprised. You still don’t even think I’m a real man, do you?” A real hint of pain had crept into his voice, in addition to the anger. 

“Of course not,” Mr. Pickens said. “Real men love _women_.” 

“After all that I’ve done? After the name I’ve made for myself?”

“You mean the name of an outlaw?”

Slim took one more emphatic step closer. “I am going to give you one more chance,” he whispered, menacingly, through his teeth. “Take that back.” His eyes blazed.

His father held his icy gaze. “No.”

“Apologize to me for everything – now,” he continued, his brow creased. “Admit that you were wrong and call me your son and I’ll let you go.”

Mr. Pickens leaned closer, his voice heavy. “I said, no.”

No one else in the room breathed, but everyone looked on without blinking. Then, about four seconds later, Slim drew both his guns from his belt at the same time and shot each of his parents in their faces through the bars. 

Everyone else flinched and sucked in their breath as Slim re-holstered his guns. Blood seeped out onto the floor of the cell. 

A moment later Sheriff Black whispered, “You’re not gonna get away with this.”

Slim picked up the water bucket and put it in the cell with his parents’ corpses. “Don’t get ahead a’ yourself, sheriff.” 

He left the office.

 

Peppers burst into Joe’s Restaurant to find Slim eating quietly in a corner. He walked up to him emphatically. “You left them in there?”

Slim didn’t meet Peppers’ gaze. “What?”

“Your parents,” Peppers said, annoyed. 

Slim raised his head. “Oh, that,” he said casually. “Yeah, it’s fine, I handled it.”

Peppers sat across from Slim and crossed his burly, tan arms on the table. “You did not have to do that.”

Finally Slim met Peppers’ eyes. “Yes, I did.”

“They should have rotted in there for all eternity.” Peppers paused. “Did you have to do it right in front of the sheriff?”

“Listen,” Slim said, the steam rising in him again. “You killed the man that abused you, yes? They abused me. Just in a different way.” He took a bite of the sandwich he was eating. After chewing it he said, “You got your revenge once upon a time, and now I got mine. It shouldn’t be that surprising.” He took a sip of his drink. “I’m a new man now.”

As Slim continued eating Peppers only looked at him. “I know,” he said quietly after a few moments. “I know.” 

 

A few mornings later, Mr. and Mrs. Pickens still lay on the floor of the cell in the sheriff’s office, beginning to make some of the other prisoners sick to their stomachs. Someone burst into the office, but surprisingly, it wasn’t an outlaw. To their relief, it was a man, followed by three others, in dark blue uniforms with gold badges on their chests.

“Sheriff Black?” The first of the men asked, covering his nose. 

“Deputy!” He piped up, coming to the edge of the cell and grabbing the bars. “We’ve been in here for days. The outlaws will be here any minute!”

“So we’ve heard.”

“Did one of the townspeople send for you?”

“Yes. We’re from Los Angeles.” 

Sheriff Black hadn’t been this relieved as long as he could remember. “Watch out. There’s three of them, two men and a woman.” 

The Deputy leader tried his keys on the cell lock, but it wouldn’t budge. “You got a spare around here?”

Before he could answer a gunshot rang out in the square outside, and the four deputies turned to the door as fast as they could. 

“Good luck!” Everyone shouted behind them. 

 

Slim, Peppers, and Cherry had just tied their horses in front of Vivador’s saloon for the morning when they heard a gunshot from somewhere else in the square. Peppers heard the bullet crash into the building they stood nearest. Whirring around, the three of them caught sight of four men storming out of the sheriff’s office. Guns were immediately drawn, even though the two groups were still across the square from each other. The townspeople, around the edges of the square, had stopped dead in their tracks or hidden behind buildings after someone had fired the first shot. 

“Deputies,” Peppers whispered.

“Dammit,” Cherry whispered back. 

In answer, the lead deputy shouted at them, “Put down your weapons! Los Angeles law!” 

They were four against three. However, the fourth deputy was a small, scrawny-looking young man who didn’t even look to be twenty yet. 

Slim smiled. All guns were still raised, and nobody moved. “Or what?” He shouted back. “Your _boy_ here gonna take us down?” He asked, gesturing at the youngest deputy. 

“We’re still outnumbered,” Peppers whispered to Slim. “You don’t know how-”

Slim had looked over and saw Peppers lowering his gun slowly, and motioning to Cherry to do the same. As Slim realized they intended to surrender, he pulled his second gun – and pointed it at Peppers while keeping his first trained at the deputies. 

Peppers’ eyes went wider than Slim had seen them in a long time, and Cherry watched in horror also. He had never seen the end of Slim’s gun barrel before. _Slim,_ he mouthed silently, shocked. 

“Trust me,” he answered very quietly. 

One more quiet moment passed between them, then Slim turned his attention back to the deputies and fired the gun he had pointed at them. They immediately returned fire. There was no getting around it now – a full-fledged gunfight had broken out right in the middle of town square.

Cherry and Peppers ran to hide behind something to get better vantage points, as had the deputies – all except the small, young one. He kept his determined, brave gaze on Slim, understandably, because of the comment about his age. Adrenaline coursed through the both of them as they squared each other up.

Slim finally retreated behind a horse post as the boy deputy passed in front of a building. Shooting wildly, people started screaming as it appeared the other deputies were hit by Cherry and Peppers. 

Slim had no time to take anything else in, though. He jumped, the adrenaline almost too much to take and the anger rising inside him, as he squeezed off a shot in the boy’s direction. However, he missed his target and instead, a little girl, probably no more than five or six years old, cried out in pain from behind him on the porch of the building and fell. 

Slim was shocked out of his wits. He momentarily lowered his gun a few inches, his heart pounding. His moment of pause was brief, however, because the distraction let the boy deputy squeeze off a better shot at him, and pain exploded in Slim’s upper arm. 

He cried out, again in shock, and fired off a reactionary shot with his other hand before falling to the ground. Clenching his teeth, he suppressed a scream, not even seeing the boy deputy fall.

A blinding moment later Slim was aware of someone pulling him up off the ground by his unhurt arm. He was being hoisted onto a horse. He thought it was probably Peppers in front of him, but he couldn’t be sure, because his vision was fading.

 

Slim jerked awake, a sharp pain coursing through his left arm. “Ah!” He cried.

“Drink some more,” Cherry said, holding a can of water against his mouth. He lay on his back on the couch in their house in Mexico, Peppers doing something with his wounded arm. They both looked dirty and worn out, but incredibly concerned about him. 

“Dammit,” Slim said, trying to climb out of a painful delirium. “Dammit, dammit, dammit…”

“Slim, it’s gonna be okay,” Peppers said.

“Ah, dammit, no,” Slim went on. “I…” He shook his head. “No, dammit, I…shot a kid.”

Peppers and Cherry paused and stared at him as he cringed in pain. “What?” They both asked.

Slim kept shaking his head, wishing it had just been a delirious dream, but he knew it wasn’t. “On accident.”

Peppers and Cherry glanced at each other. Then Peppers continued tinkering with Slim’s arm. 

“Aaahh!” Slim screamed in pain. Peppers tried to hold his arm steady without squeezing out more blood. It already had been dribbling down the couch and pooling on the floor. “Dammit! What are you doin’?”

“You got shot,” Peppers said petulantly. “As you must know, the bullet’s gotta come out.”

Slim dropped his head back to the cushion. He was sweating more now. He wiped his forehead with his other hand and then grabbed the edge of the couch. “Bring some whiskey,” Peppers told Cherry. 

She brought Slim a bottle and put another pillow under his head. “Drink up,” she said. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Oh, damn,” Slim said quietly, taking a swig from the bottle. “You speak from experience?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, hang on,” Peppers said, cringing, as he carefully stuck a pair of tweezers into the wound. Slim gritted his teeth while Cherry rubbed some cool water onto his forehead. He grunted and kicked along with Peppers, who also grimaced as he tried to hold Slim still. “Ahh!” He shouted. The bullet had been removed. 

“Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit,” Slim kept babbling.

Peppers dropped it on the floor as he grabbed a clean cloth and bandage. Cherry poured water over the wound and then patted it dry. 

“It’s okay, it’s over!” Cherry told him. 

“Dammit – ah!” He went on, relaxing again. He took another drink of the whiskey. “Oh, god – what am I gonna do?”

“What?”

“P – puh – Peppers,” Slim said in exasperation, “I fucking shot a kid!”

“Slim, there’s nothing we can really do about it,” Peppers replied. “I’m sorry, but it happens. I know there’s no greater guilt.”

“You shot a kid too?”

Peppers nodded. “Long time ago. Same way – on accident.” 

“Dammit.” Slim breathed heavily. 

“You wanna rest?” Peppers was almost done wrapping Slim’s arm with the bandage. 

Slim shook his head, his face anguished. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to-”

“Shhh,” Peppers said, reaching up and stroking the side of Slim’s head. “Slim – shhh.”

“Dammit, dammit,” he kept saying. Peppers smoothed the bandage and then grabbed Slim’s hand. 

“Slim – listen to me,” Peppers said, leaning over him. “This feeling – means you’re human. You’re still human.”

“Wha?”

“I was a bit worried about you after you shot your parents,” Peppers admitted. “I was afraid you were going down a path I couldn’t follow. I know-” He swallowed. “I know killing somebody is like killing a part of yourself.” Slim creased his brow, taking in what Peppers said. “Even when it’s revenge.” He squeezed Peppers’ hand as Peppers shook his head. “I was so afraid when you pulled your gun on me,” he whispered.

“I didn’t mean to,” Slim said, still breathing heavily.

“But you were right,” Peppers countered. “We shouldn’t have surrendered. Thank you.” 

Slim only stared up at Peppers’ face as he lay there, the pain slowly fading, their hearts beating together. Peppers leaned down and kissed Slim’s lips, and Slim kissed back eagerly, grabbing onto Peppers for dear life. 

 

The young deputy jerked awake, groaning and looking up into the bright sun. He had been lying face down in the dirt in San Diego town square. A pain coursed through one arm and another shot through one leg. The gunfight suddenly returning to his memory, he attempted to stand. He failed, however, noting drops of blood in the dirt underneath him.

He sat, facing the sheriff’s office. Scanning the square, trying to shade his eyes, he saw no one – everyone had fled, including the outlaws, it appeared. He did notice a few dead people lying around the periphery, though – his fellow deputies. So scooting along with his good arm, and trying not to let his leg wound drag on the ground, he moved painstakingly toward the sheriff’s office. 

Slowly pushing the door open, he was greeted with anxious cries and pleas. The door fell shut behind him and he sat on the floor before two cells stuffed with people, including two that looked to have been dead for a few days. “Deputy,” a man who pushed to the front said coolly but eagerly. He wore a sheriff’s star. 

The deputy looked him over best he could in his exhausted state. “Sheriff?”

“Young man,” he went on, “you got a cell key on you?”

“A key?” He asked. “No, sir.” He grunted as he pushed himself to a more upright position. 

“Pull together, deputy,” the sheriff prodded. “I’m gonna need you to fetch the skeleton key. It’s up above my desk, top o’ the shelf over there.” The young deputy was quite obviously in much pain. “If you can get it an’ let us out, we’ll get you to the doctor right away.” He reached a hand out through the bars, but couldn’t reach the deputy. “What’s your name, son?”

“Cecil.”

“Deputy Cecil,” the sheriff repeated, “right up there –” he pointed, “– on top of that shelf.” The shelf in question was on the wall, and would require Cecil to stand in order to reach it. 

“Ah, dammit!” Cecil groaned in pain. The prisoners could see his blood dripping onto the floor. 

“Pull it together, Cecil!” Sheriff Black urged him, along with several of the others. “We can take good care of you if you let us out!” 

Cecil looked up at the elusive shelf. It seemed like a mile away, but he didn’t have a choice. Gritting his teeth and suppressing a cry, he crawled using one arm and one leg over to the desk, where he grabbed hold of the edge of it and, with a loud grunt, pulled himself up most of the way. The people in the cells cheered for him, but he barely heard. Fumbling to get his footing on his good leg, he stood up straight and quickly ran his unwounded hand across the shelf. To his relief, he grabbed the key, took one look at it, and tossed it over to the cell block, where the sheriff was able to retrieve it from the floor. “Good work, deputy,” Sheriff Black said proudly as he worked it into the lock, while Cecil slumped to the floor. “Good work.”

 

Deputy Cecil stifled a cough as Sheriff Black exhaled smoke from his cigar. They sat on either side of the desk in the sheriff’s office, Cecil freshly bandaged and cleaned up – and looking miles better than he had the day prior. 

The sheriff was proud, and Cecil could see it on his face. It warmed him inside a bit. Keeping his eyes on the young deputy, he put out the cigar out of respect, though he would never have admitted it.

“I will admit,” Sheriff Black did say, “that I am impressed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How long you been a deputy?”

“A month, sir.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows went up. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen, sir.”

The sheriff put his feet up on the desk emphatically. “The outlaws got away, as you know,” he said, taking a deep breath. “But – it’s more important that they are now away…and that’s thanks to you. This town owes you a debt.”

Cecil shook his head in surprise. “I…don’t know what to say, sir.”

“You don’t need to say nothin’,” the sheriff said, “except, answer me this.” The sheriff then lowered his tone and his gaze. “Your fellow deputies are dead and you’re recovering from two gunshot wounds. I…could use a hand around here. This job is tough – as you now know firsthand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What I am asking is if you would like to stay here in San Diego – at least for the time being. We’ll see how it goes.”

Cecil paused. Then, “And be deputy? Here?”

“That is what I am proposing.”

Cecil paused again, a look of wonderment crossing his face. “I…” He turned it over in his mind. Then he looked back to Sheriff Black, whose piercing gaze was fixed on him intently. He half-smiled, a genuine smile, the sheriff could tell. No one smiled at him like that nowadays. “I accept.”


End file.
